I hate the color orange. Every shade, every hue, every tint. Orange fills me with dread. Orange disgusts me. I wish it made me happy, like other people. Everyone around me sees oranges, sunshine, smiles... Summer, energy, positivity... At this point, I just see restriction, prison, conformity. I know I must sound dramatic; orange is just a simple color, after all. To me, though, orange is more. See, I have one of those moms who has to have everything be just right, exactly in its place, showroom ready, pristine. Everything about our lives has been for show with nothing of substance. If it doesn't fit her intended aesthetic, it's worthless. My aesthetic, to her at least, is orange. My walls, my bed, my entire room has to be orange. Every photo ever taken of me has me in orange. At this point, I myself might as well be orange to her.

One time, I went to a slumber party and we decided to do our make-up in my friend's living room; I was having a blast! I wound up with this beautiful blue shimmer on my eyes and a simple clear gloss.. I felt so beautiful. We took pictures of each other and posted them online, showing off our handiwork, our masterpieces (most of the looks were god awful, but it was fun, so none of us cared).. Well, I guess my mom found out, because an hour or so after posting those photos, my mom comes barging into their house, making a beeline for me. I didn't get a chance to say anything to her before she grabbed me by the hair and dragged me out; I didn't even get to grab my things or say goodbye to the others... The drive home was filled with this tense, palpable silence. By the time we got home, I was yelling at her to, "just say something already! Just be mad already!". but she still said nothing. She did, however, grab me by the arm, take me inside our house and straight into her room. I thought maybe she was going to spank me or something (and honestly, part of me wish she had).. Instead, she pulled this big leather trunk out of her closet, frantically dumped all of its contents onto the floor, and shoved me inside of it. I kicked and screamed and bit and cried, but she didn't care... She just shut it, locked it, and left me in there. I found out later that I was in there for nearly 2 and a half days without being let out at all... It felt like an eternity.

I never was the same after that; that sort of thing changes you. It creeps into your bones and rots them from the inside out. It was 5 years ago, but I still wake up drenched in sweat sometimes over it. I don't cry anymore, though; not sure when I stopped... I've been doing good in school, despite it. I work my ass off, enough that I'm going to graduate a year early! I'm a year away from no longer being a high schooler, no longer being her daughter... No longer being orange.